Paradise Regained
It was an incredible high to be speeding to Leopold Sedar Senghor airport two days after graduation (I am delighted to report that we had a 100% pass rate, despite those students who were notorious partisans of least effort, see story http://www.traveling-stories-
sleep - no haggling in stores = bliss.
Coming Full Circle
The end of the school year is approaching, and it seems I have come almost full circle, because just the other day I was introduced to a young man who came to Dakar for a ten-week internship. An interesting fellow, he is a computer science and religion major from Indiana, and he described with something vaguely akin to relish the giant cockroach that tried to ’spoon’ with him on his first night in town.
He then recounted his own trip to the tailor’s, a mere 2 bedraggled shacks down from a spot used as a central goat meetin’-and-greetin’ spot, and he managed to take it all beautifully in stride. I remembered my own first meeting with the school principal during which we were interrupted by the bleating of goats, and this in turn was followed by a flood of memories: I remembered my first ride on a suitably rusty car rapide, the view of fly-covered sides of beef hanging in the midday sun, and the brightly colored boubous of the mango sellers before they were turned from the pavement.
Bound for Bandia
Known as a fairly big private reserve that was established in the Dakar area in 1986, and about one and a half hours or 65 km from the city center, Bandia is a huge tourist attraction: mistakenly so, if I may be permitted to comment. On the way there, you pass a wonderful forest of baobabs, which is certainly typical of the region and impressive to see. Upon arrival, you are decked out with a guide and possibly a rental jeep and all sorts of things that cost a lot of money and then you proceed to see a sleepy rhino, a happy family of giraffes, some wild boars, and that pretty much completes the picture. If I am not mistaken, there are a few ostriches and grazing gazelles as well.
More unusual than any of this is the sight of a griot, or singer of the lower caste, whose remains are on view within the hollow trunk of a baobab (these trees, which lose heir leaves during the dry season, can live up to a thousand years and their trunks become increasingly hollow with the passage of time). So if any of this is worth going out of your way for, be my guest. The website calls the trip an unforgettable experience, and though it may well be, it is simply not what I had in mind when I pictured my first time in an African game park. I wanted lions and zebras, not hours of time spent in the hot sun hoping beyond hope to see something more exciting than a wild boar.
Plight of the Talibés
The first time I came out of a European-style supermarket here in Dakar, I was immediately surrounded by a group of pitiful-looking young boys wearing threadbare clothes and clutching empty tomato paste cans, begging me for money. The vision is heartbreaking, the story behind it even more so, sadly. These young boys, known as talibé (pronounced TAL-ee-bay, from the Arabic ’seeker’ or ‘learner’), were traditionally sent by their parents to study the Quran with an influential spiritual leader, or marabout (marah-boo), to deepen their knowledge of the holy writings.
In exchange for this religious instruction, parents might provide money or gifts. Children would also be expected to help the marabout, often by offering donations they would receive for reciting the Quran. Asking for money in this way was said to teach humility and appreciation for whatever one has while preparing the children for life’s hardships. At the same time, the practice could be said to encourage the practice of zakaat or almsgiving (one of the five pillars of Islam) among members of the wider population.
Why They’re Better Mixed
I remember when friends of mine began having their first children, both in the US and in Europe. Virtually everything they bought was top of the line, organically produced, etc - vegetable-based paint for the baby’s room, organically treated wood for the cradle, lovingly raised New Zealand sheep hand-shorn for the carpet (perhaps I exaggerate here, but only slightly), baby wipes containing organic chamomile and aloe vera, even special bathtubs and bottles ergonomically suited to a baby. Read more
Ode to the Ile
The Ile de Goree, or
Let’s Get Cynical
I have just come back from a really lovely dinner at one of Ngor’s most pleasant restaurants, a little place called Sao Brazil. Picture solid wooden tables and chairs in a garden setting, bougainvillea everywhere, even white wine and ‘real’ ham (meaning made from pork instead of beef, always keeping in mind that Senegal is a predominantly Muslim country). A great place to unwind, except for the fact that during dinner, my colleague looked at me and shook her head, warning me that I really ought not to be so cynical about every aspect of my life here in Senegal.
The Art of Marchander
Hippos, wall hangings, fertility figures, statuettes representing days of the week, monkeys that hear, see and speak no evil, pirogue-shaped trays, woven baskets, djembes, rings and bracelets: all of these items and more are to be had at most any Senegalese market. It goes without saying that everything is of course made of the finest ebony (or at least driftwood that has been given a nice black finish with shoe polish) or pure silver (well, the top layer, anyway). The famous wax cloth called bazin (see article A Trip to the Tailor, http://www.traveling-stories-magazine.com/a-trip-to-the-tailor/#more-397) so beloved by the Senegalese comes in three grades, but no matter which you choose, you will inevitably be told that the one you have selected is the most valuable kind, and will therefore be priced accordingly. So the most useful skill to acquire immediately upon arrival is that of haggling.
Waiting for the Barbarians
“So when you first agreed to come, did you think you would find us swinging from trees and stuff?” asked one of my students eagerly, to the sound of giggles all around.
Gala Soiree at the Sorano
Last night I had the good fortune to attend a concert in honor of one of percussion’s living legends, Doudou N’Diaye Rose, born in Dakar in 1928. The celebration was to honor 50 years of musicianship, as he has invented new kinds of drums, allegedly created no fewer than 500 rhythms, and has played with everyone from Dizzy Gillespie and Miles Davis to Peter Gabriel. Though many men did not train female percussionists, he did – in fact, he leads an all-female drum group called Les Rosettes, which is apparently made up entirely of his own daughters and granddaughters (!). Phenomenal women, they were, and incredibly expressive, powerful artists, at one point even playing an art ‘musical drums,’ running from one drum to play the next person’s, all without missing a beat (of course). So multicultural is Rose, too, that last night he teamed up with fabulous Taiko drummers from Japan, and so we were treated to a mixture of African and Asian rhythms that had some people getting up from their seats to dance and leaving others simply spellbound with admiration.
